Hope lost and found

My friend was telling me that she had watched United 93 and a documentary on Auschwitz a few days ago. She was dismayed at the atrocities that humans could inflict upon each other. On the same day that my friend was feeling so blue, I was listening to a radio program about sub-Saharan migrants who hoped to escape war and strife in their native lands. European nations had paid Morocco 105 million Euros to “strengthen border security,” in order to prevent the migrants from leaving the continent of Africa. Moroccan police had been seizing the migrants, including some with legal refugee status, and had been dumping them back into the desert to fend for themselves. Last year, approximately 6000 of the migrants drowned while trying to cross from Northern Africa to the Spanish Canary Islands. I was utterly shocked, and the fact that I was so shocked made me feel so very naïve.

I’ve been asking myself – am I truly more deserving of such a sheltered life than so many others? I am most certainly not; I am just luckier.

Kurt Vonnegut died last week. I remember reading his works in high school, although I have never been a fan. But, the fact that so many people felt such an immense loss must mean something, right? Perhaps hope is not all lost. Perhaps it’s a sign that there are still people who care, who believe that the world doesn’t have to be this way.